“I could easily blast so much keef night and day I become a bouhali; a real-gone crazy, a holy untouchable madman unto whom everything is permitted, nothing is true.”
“Nothing is real.; Everything is permitted.”
“Nothing is true, everything is permitted.”
“Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted”
“Everything is permitted, Nothing is true.”
“Why is this,” she asked, again in that dreamy tone, “so much more real than that? One’s night, one’s day, why is this so much more real? That I can’t forget the things from the day, and I can’t remember the things from the night?”